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I plaster a fake smile onto my face and walk towards the girls. “They smell amazing.”
I’m not even pretending. They actually smell mouthwatering.I spot whole vanilla beans on the counter next to long cinnamon sticks.
“How about a cup of tea?” I do a double take.Did Mr. High and Mighty just deign to speak to me?Based on the fact that he’s looking right at me, I’m forced to conclude that he did.
“Oh, er, nah, don’t worry about it.”
He lifts an eyebrow. “You need to get something in your system. And your stomach has been off lately. Tea will help settle it.”
I just nod uncertainly while he proceeds to get me a cup of tea. He’s treating me nicely right now but I don’t trust it. This is only because the kids are here and he doesn’t want them to see what a giant douche he is.
But even though I know he’s faking it, I still find myself leaning into it. Just a little. Just a very, very little bit. It’s nice to be looked after, that’s all. To not have to get your own tea in the morning, to have someone ask what you want for a change.
The thing is, I know he’s capable of it. He spent months taking care of me and the kids. Sometimes, it was subtle, like the time he insisted on fixing the coffee table before a game of Jenga because he “refused to have his victory compromised by faulty furniture.” Other times, it was obvious, like when he bought the kids new shoes and refused to let me pay him back for them.
He’s a good man. I’ve seen that firsthand. Which is why this part is so hard.
Seeing the way his eyes harden when they find mine, the way he stiffens instantly as though he’s forced to be constantly alert around me… The familiarity and the intimacy that took us months to build has been torn down so fast I still can’t quite believe it’s gone.
Sometimes, I hate him for refusing to believe me.
Other times, I can see it from his perspective.
Most of the time, I just want him to hold me like he used to.
“Here’s your tea,” he says, interrupting my stream of thoughts.
It smells like chocolate when I lift it to my lips. I raise my gaze to his, but he looks away almost immediately. It’s a clear reminder: just because he’s being nice to me doesn’t mean he’s forgiven me.
He has to tolerate me because of the precious cargo I’m carrying.
Glorified surrogateright here. His words, not mine.
“Thank you.”
“Ruslan, I changed my mind!” Reagan announces with that cheeky grin of hers. “I want a yellow dress like Belle fromBeauty and the Beast.”
He just flips another pancake onto the already large stack in front of him. “Yellow it is, Princess Rae.”
“What’s this about a dress?” I ask, clearing my throat.
“Ruslan’s gonna get us princess dresses,” Rae replies with a solemn look to let me know just how serious this negotiation is.
I frown. “Why?”
Both girls look at me as though I’ve just asked the world’s stupidest question. “Because we want to be princesses, Aunt Em.” The“duh”is implied.
“Yeah,” agrees Caro. “We’re gonna play dress up.”
“Is that really necessary? Just use your imaginations. You don’t need princess dresses.” I turn to Ruslan. “You don’t have to do this.”
He shrugs me off. “I want to.” Then he deposits a short stack of pancakes onto two plates and slides them over to the girls. “Eat up.”
I can only shake my head in amazement. How did I lose all authority in a matter of days?
“Ruslan, can we eat outside in the garden with Josh?” Caroline pleads.
The moment Ruslan okays it with a single gruff nod, they’re off, leaving me to deal with the broody pancake maker whose expression has twisted into a stiff grimace.
